The way I figure, if I robbed a bank one of two things would happen. I’d either get away with it and have a bunch of money to start over or…I’d get locked up and finally have some peace and quiet (except for the occasional prison riot).
If I was locked up, I’d be away from the people in my life who cause me great stress like my husband in the dungeon and my two selfish and completely insane teenagers. I wouldn’t be tormented by my high-schoolish feelings of revenge against “the popular girls” (AKA football mom clique) and in a women’s prison I certainly wouldn’t be tempted by scoundrels. No scoundrels to coax me into doing things I’d later regret. Things that felt good at the time but made me feel worse about myself later.
My most recent encounter with the scoundrel Lambert is a perfect example. He sent me a text on Friday, not asking me but telling me to meet him at a diner a few towns over. He also said, again, to wear a skirt. I ignored this text for about three hours until I lost the fight with the very persuasive (and horny) bad Nicole, and agreed to meet him.
It was late at night and he was sitting at a booth all the way in a back corner, on the side facing the wall. As I approached the table, I thought about turning around but it was like a magnet was pulling me. A magnet aimed right at my cooch.
The second I sat, he gave me that look. Oh those smoldering brown eyes. Any defense I had built up came tumbling down. I wasn’t seated for more than 10 seconds before the waitress came to the table. She looked only at Lambert.
“You ready to order hun?”
Instinctively I looked around, there was no menu on the table. Before I could point that out he was ordering.
“We’ll have two turkey clubs and two coffees”, he said, not consulting me, not even with his eyes.
“Sure thing”, she said with a sexy, almost knowing smile.
As she walked away I thought, This man is so pushy and rude, so why am I still sitting here? Funny thing is, I probably would have ordered a turkey club anyway. I don’t frequent diners often but when I do, that’s what I order.
“I like your skirt”, he said.
Finally, a compliment. “Thanks. Still a little cold for a short skirt though”, I said playfully.
He leaned over, looked under the table then glanced up at me. “Take your panties off”.
I closed my legs and giggled nervously, “No way”.
He sat up and looked around the diner. There weren’t many tables occupied and we were pretty far away from the other customers. “No one will see you. Take them off for me”.
I was frozen. “Nicole”, he said in a coaxing way. He smiled but it was like a, you’d better do what I say or you’re gonna be in big trouble kind of smile.
Oh fine. I hiked up one side of my skirt, hooked my thumb in and slid them down. Just as they got to my knees, the waitress walked up with our food. I actually felt a breeze drift up my skirt. My face flushed.
She put our plates down and looked at Lambert. “Anything else”?
“No, we’re fine. Thanks.”
He watched her ass as she walked away. My panties are around my knees and this son of a bitch is looking a the waitress’ ass. I really need to get out of here.
Annoyed, I reached down to pull them up. “I’m not taking them off. This is stupid”.
With that he lifted his foot, hooked them on my panties and pulled them all the way down, smiling the whole time. I was stuck, his foot was holding them down and the only way I’d be able to move is if I gave in and slid them over my shoes. No way. We glared at each other a moment then he picked up his sandwich and took a bite. I did the same.
I’m sure everything appeared normal as we ate, but under the table we were in a battle over my undies. At first I was pissed but eventually it struck me funny and it turned into a bizarre game of tug of war until finally, I let him win.
He reached down, grabbed my panties and twirled them on his finger in victory. Just then, the waitress stopped by. I was mortified. He had my panties in his hand.
“You guys need anything?”
“We’re fine, thanks”, he said. Then like it was a napkin, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with my panties. She smiled, again knowingly, then walked away.
I reached over and tried to grab them but he was too quick and shoved them into his jacket pocket. Defeated, I took another bite of my club sandwich then suddenly, he disappeared under the table. I continued to eat, trying hard to appear normal while he forced my legs apart. It was all I could do not to reenact the orgasm scene from “When Harry Met Sally.”
After about fifteen minutes he resurfaced. We got our food to go and before we left I noticed he tipped the waitress twenty bucks.
Again, he said goodbye to me in the parking lot. I felt “satisfied” this time, no Frosty required for the ride home, but I felt used. How can someone make me feel so good and so bad at the same time?
Later, as I sat in bed alone, eating my club sandwich, I devised my plan to rob a bank. Or maybe I’ll just go get a massage tomorrow.